The Dawn of the Wolf
by lycoris-nuri
Summary: A Hunter has many rules, foremost, never hunt the wrong prey. And, as a bounty hunter hunts a prey she never should have hunted, she finds herself predator no more, but rather, prey...
1. Marked for Death

It was a dark night, not an exceptionally dark one, the moon shining in a subtle pallor up above in the star speckled sky. Storm clouds, though, were spreading, seeking to darken both half moon an pale stars above. She would wait for them. After all, there was a storm brewing, she could smell it. It would not pass. And she needed all light to be gone to make her move successfully.   
  
Under a tree she sat, hooded and cloaked, pulling the dark fabric to further shadow her face as eyes gleamed out brightly from the shadows that would not allow for the showing of features. It wasn't the iris that could be seen, glowing out, for that was yellow, but rather, the pupil, glowing iridescently blue to utilize the darkness, to see where most could not. She was a hunter, a wolf in human's form, hungry, ready. Bright eyes narrowed at the moon. Her moment was nearing.   
  
And then it came, as shadows swept across the night sky and a softly falling sweep of rain came down. A pleased growl rolled in her throat as she began moving. Swift as a shadow, and just as silent she swept over the earth, moving through the woods with the cunning of the wolf that she was. Until she was staring at the lights from houses, only a few lights left lit.   
  
Her target, for the moment, was at one of them. But he wouldn't be for long. He had a home to get to. A home, a wife, and several children. She settled herself into the shadows of an alleyway to wait. What he had scarce mattered to her. All that mattered was that someone else wanted him dead, and would pay dearly for it to happen. Unseen her lips curved into a smile. A payment that would go to her.   
  
He came out of the pub not to long after she had settled into her hiding place, not drunk, but pleasantly intoxicated. He would not be as easy or as quick to catch this way, but then, she loved the hunt. She drew a black blade from it's sheath, stabbing it into the ground and drawing it out again as she watched him. Black though the blade might be the mud would be for the best, to take away chance reflections from the torch-light.   
  
Lowering her head lest her eyes give her away she moved by instinct, tailing him. She had to get him before he reached home. Though she did not mind the idea of killing them all, her prospective employer...did. She narrowed her eyes as she neared him. He was alone... he was hers... She began at a dash, but then, he did the same, she followed, stifling shock as he headed, not to his home, but rather the woods.   
  
She kept out of the site of his torch, wondering how he had detected her following as he stopped. He turned, wielding a blade eyes focused on where, in the shadows, she was. "Impressive... hunter, were you tailing any man but me he would be dead. Now, step into the light where I can see you and we can discuss some things."   
  
"I don't consort with prey," she growled, her voice giving away nothing, neither gender nor age, much of the reason she had picked up the growl.   
  
"Come now, how much were you offered? I'm sure I can double that payment if you just give me the reason you are hunting me."   
  
She stepped into the torch-light, hood hiding her features still, dark cloak, wet, but still whipped about lightly with wind. "That would break my codes," she snarled pulling her blade up and holding it.   
  
The man looked at her cloaked form incredulously. "I guess I'll have to settle this the hard way then."   
  
Then, without her even seeing it coming the torch was thrown in her face, burning the hood that protected her eyes from being scorched. She whipped the cloak off instantly. Kicking the torch directly in front of the man's path as he sprung at her, and tossing the cloak there as well. There it burned and the man sprung aside.   
  
In the brighter light cast by the burning cloak he saw her for what she was, the eyes picking up the glow of the fire eerily. "It seems I have been hunted by a little wolf. Well Wolf, let's see what you can do." He sprung then, and his blade struck hers, the mud from hers splattering into both their faces.   
  
She twisted the blade around, sliding through mud as the storm picked up, lightening lancing out across the sky in brilliant splendor. She swirled, a small knife sliding from her sleeve and towards him with lightening speed. Yet, somehow, he blocked it. Her eyes widened a moment as she saw the blade flying away from him, and imbedding itself in a nearby tree. Somehow she got the feeling this would be difficult.   
  
He sprung again, sliding across mud which splattered in her eyes. With a howl of pain she pulled her blade up by instinct, blocking and lancing her foot out. She was satisfied by a grunt of pain on his part, but there was a downside. She fell, finding herself looking up at him. She kicked his legs with both feet, using them as springboards to slide backwards through the mud until she was far enough back that she used the momentum from her movement to flip up and to her feet.   
  
She glared at him, realizing that he too had fallen, from her kick off mainly. Both of them were covered from head to toe with mud. She grinned savagely. They had only begun.   
  
Their fight lasted perhaps an hour, the ringing of blade upon blade permeating the air around them. Only to be absorbed further away by the ongoing sound of the storm. And still both her cloak and the torch burned. That fire was not natural, hadn't been natural in the first place, else it wouldn't have caught a soaked cloak ablaze. She panted, her small form tiring to the man's relentless attack, and her relentless attempts to get him down as well.   
  
It was a battle of survival, on both sides, she realized. For him, it had been from the beginning, but for her, he wasn't just defending himself. He would eliminate the threat in the process. She focused bright eyes on his. She wasn't the only one tiring...   
  
At last, a strike struck, piercing his stomach and blood spilled out. It didn't go deep though as suddenly the flat of his blade slammed against her head. She flew back, her hand clenched on her weapon and pulling it back out of the wound it had caused.   
  
She lay there, dazed as she looked up to him, fist clenched on the hilt of her sword as he approached, blood streaming from his stomach. It was just a flesh wound though, and she knew it, she knew her blade hadn't gone deep enough for it to be more. She tried to pull herself out of her daze to whip the blade back at him, but moved to slowly.   
  
His foot slammed down on her hand, pressing it against the ground hard enough that she had no choice but release the weapon or have her fingers crushed. She released. He grinned, looking at her for a moment, holding his blade casually. "Well done little Wolf, but now I think, you might like this bargain. I will let you keep your life if you give me the name of the man who hired you." He grabbed her short hair, muddy though it was, and pulled her head up slightly to emphasize his point.   
  
Her eyes narrowed and she spoke, voice no longer in a snarl, "That I can not say, for doing so would be breaking my code." The words seemed regretful, as though she wished she could tell.   
  
"Code?" he questioned rhetorically kneeling down, his knee pressed on her stomach as he pulled her face to his. "Then by code know this, your life is mine Wolf, and I spare it only because I choose. Use it to hunt me, or any innocents that I hear of and I will take it back." He slammed her head back to the ground, pulling a knife from his belt. "Now, lest you forget," he paused speech, pressing her down by the shoulders. She closed her eyes in a wince as she felt a quick swipe run from forehead to cheek, yet, fortunately, missing the eye.   
  
Her eyes opened and she winced as salty, metallic blood poured into her left from the wound. "What's your name Wolf," the man questioned softly, almost kindly.   
  
She closed her left eye again to keep the blood from it. "Dawn," she said softly, a name she had never given to prey or to employers before, a name that, in fact, she hadn't used except to herself in a very long time.   
  
The man gave a small nod, "Don't forget, Dawn." And with that the hilt of his knife slammed against her skull, and she knew no more. 


	2. Bound to Life

It was morning without a dawn to which she woke, the darkness of the storm easing her into sleep once more, were she to let it. She would not though, forcing her eyes open. Doing so caused pain to lance along the left side of her face and gingerly she touched at the wound. There was the gellish beginning of a scab that came off onto her fingers at the slight touch, causing the wounds to ooze softly. It was two, really, though they had come in one stroke.   
  
One line lay below her eye, one above. Whimpering she sat up, hugging herself for warmth, her limbs soaked thoroughly. There was no way she could think that the night previous had been a dream, for beside her lay her black sword, half buried in the mud. The slash lay on her face too, and that was the most concrete evidence. It would be there for life, though her sword she could pick up, and in fact, did.   
  
She cleaned it as best she could on her tunic, which, through the never ending rain, had, at least for the part of the front, become clean. Blue gleaming yellow eyes darted about, settling on the knife, still in the trunk of the tree. The man had wanted to leave no doubt in her mind as to what had happened, it seemed. She stalked to the tree, retrieving the blade and holstering it in her sleeve.   
  
Slipping from the woods she eyed the town she had been the night previous. A town she intended to avoid now. Unfortunately, there were many others that had just been added to that list last night. She was bound to codes over all else, and now, her job was forfeit, and, were she to return to her previous employer, her life.   
  
She began jogging across rain slickened ground as though it were not. She utilized fully the grace of her half elvish heritage to add speed to her run. She had to pick up the items she had left, extra clothing, one extra cloak included, and food. Her money, however, remained on her. She fingered the pouch as she ran, knowing, and hating what she had to do with most of it.   
  
Her run ended midday as she came upon the town from which she had come. The town where her things lay. This had not been near her last visit, but it would be her last...   
  
She started it by climbing the wall that led to her room on the second floor of an old inn. The window faced an alley, a choice view only if one didn't have a view in mind. The ivy on the wall was not exactly sturdy, and most people would not use it for climbing, because they would fall. She grinned a bit, not her though, she had been given all the grace of a hunter. Grace which allowed her to willingly pick out the cheapest rooms in inns.   
  
She hopped into the room, eyes skimming it. None had entered. None would, bother. Grinning she shuttered her window, stripping wet and still mostly muddy clothes. She had worn normal clothing beneath dark cloak and now all that was left was a sneak suit used for robbing houses generally. Well, that was beautiful, one quick way to draw the attention of authorities in just about any town.   
  
Snarling she scrubbed clean with a basin she had left filled with water when she had left. Then she slipped into it the sneak suit and secured the weapons about her. She glanced at her soaked outfit. The shirt was blood stained near the collar, despite the rain, but the pants could be cleaned well enough.   
  
She left the pants and shirt both draped to dry as she pulled the spare cloak on. She was just glad she had paid a week in advance, though she wouldn't get her money back, at least she wasn't checked on and asked for payment. Considering she'd been gone over a day. Shrugging off that thought she slipped down and to the common room of the inn. Mostly empty, considering it was not yet late enough for the night crowd of drinkers.   
  
The person she wanted to see, however, was there. She strode forward, fingering one of the pouches of money she had. She tossed it down on the table in front of him. "Hire someone else," she snarled softly, keeping gender concealed, "I cannot do the job."   
  
The man looked up to her, and she for the first time saw his face. It was old, weathered and he had squinty eyes that shifted coolly, calculatingly. "What? Too much of a task for the little baby wolfy?" he asked sarcastically and a nervous tingle burned along her spine.   
  
"He had my life in his hands and mockingly spared it, I am bound by all codes I honor to return this favor. Else I would not have left this job unfinished," She growled with eyes narrowed as they began darting. The others in the room were close, as though listening in. Not that it mattered, no one even bother to keep dealing such as this secret here.   
  
"Any other hunter could have quit, and it would be acceptable to spare them, but for you." He eyed her. "I've watched you Wolf, watched how you work. You didn't just quit that hunt... did you? You are bound by him, bound away from all usefulness to me." He gave a nod and the men nearing sprung.   
  
And with that, she turned, dark sword leaping from it's sheath. These were not innocents, not a single one of them could be even remotely called such. There would be no remorse in annihilating them, normally, and yet, she could not bring herself to bring a single killing blow. It was common sense that held her back. If she killed any there would be a price on her head perhaps greater then on the man that had bested her the night previous.   
  
She pushed through with amazing speed and skill, whirling to meet blades with her own, even pulling out one of two daggers now. She spun and whirled, evading blocking, and returning with blows that often hurt her opponents, leaving them dazed. But, as she fled the inn, left not one dead. She ran, pulling herself into the stable and ducking low as she moved along the stalls, eyeing each and every horse she passed.   
  
They settled on one. It was dark grey of coat, with dark eyes that seemed almost brooding, though they weren't. And, best yet, it didn't shy away from her eyes as she pushed back the hood of her cloak, which she quickly pulled back up. She pulled herself onto it's back, unlatching the door, but leaving it closed as she lay low on the bare back of the horse, waiting.   
  
Three mean entered, cautious as they held lanterns up in the half light, trying to catch site of the hunted hunter. But she was as a shadow, a patch of black atop the grey horse. They came closer, looking around, and, by some inborn instinct, rather then digging her heels in she whispered a word to the horse.   
  
She did, however need to use her heels to hold on, for with that whisper the horse sprang forward, a bolt of dark lightening that scattered the men. She hung on for dear life as it bolted onwards and into the streets, guided only occasionally by her words, but, it seemed, the beats had a destination of it own in mind.   
  
And so she found herself, riding a road through the woods, towards destination unknown, former life left behind. Though she knew it would haunt her always. 


End file.
